Sally was examining the adjoining bed of cauliflowers. Gill pointed out to the children the different varieties. “These all belong to the same family,” said he; “the common cabbage which is so generally in use on our tables, the more delicate cauliflower, the broccoli with its loose heads, the khol-rabi or turnip-stemmed cabbage, and the kale, with no head, but with purple, branching leaves.”
“Every body likes cabbage, it seems to me,” said Ben.
“Yes, in some form or other,” returned the Scotchman; “either boiled, or sliced raw, and eaten with vinegar, or made into sour-crout, as the Germans prefer it.”
“How is that?” asked Ben.
“They slice it and put a layer in the bottom of a barrel, and salt it well and pound it with a pestle, or tread it down with heavy boots, till the barrel is half filled with froth. Layer after layer of cabbage and salt are added, and bruised until the barrel is pretty nearly full, when some cold water is poured in, and the top of the barrel pressed down with heavy stones. The contents ferment for a week or two, during which time the brine is drawn off and new brine poured in; and, when it is perfectly clear, the mass is fit for use. It should be kept under the brine all the time.”
“It sounds like vile stuff,” said Ben.
Gill thought so too. “I never eat it,” he said; “but many people think it very nice. You know I told you that snakes were considered good food by the heathen Africans; and rats and dogs and caterpillars, are great luxuries with some nations.”
“Ugh!” ejaculated both the children.
“I must get some beets now,” said Gill, going to the other end of the garden, and unearthing the red and white roots.
“These white ones are as sweet as sugar,” said Ben. “We had some for dinner yesterday. You get sugar from these, do you not, Gill?”